non omnis moriar
by AlyssaLucyAnne
Summary: One year, 13 letters and a love surpassing the barriers of life and death.
1. July

**non omnis moriar**

**_not all of me will die_**

* * *

July

* * *

It's been 24 days. 24 unbearable days she has spent in the darkness alone.

She has grown accustomed to the cadences of sadness by now, dances to the beat of her fragmented heart and tries to ignore the aching blisters on her feet that beg her to just stop, just give up, and join him in the endlessness.

But she keeps on moving. Every day. Out of the bed they spent so many nights in together. She entangles herself from the rumpled sheets and leaves it unmade. At least that way she can pretend he's been there too.

The kitchen seems flat without him in a pretty butch with the words "Best dad in the world" in red letters on the white fabric. She misses the smell of his coffee waking her in the morning, the way that even on his last days he got up to make her coffee. Even though he had long been forbidden to drink it himself and although the oxygen tank he had been attached to and the wheel chair on the later days had made it difficult for him to move as smoothly as he used to.

She brews her own coffee now but the bitter taste it leaves in her mouth leaves her wanting to vomit after every sip. She knows that she needs the caffeine to stay awake though. The only things worse than the taste of coffee are the dreams that come eventually when she falls asleep and so she drinks every bitter sip and tastes the salt of her tears intermingled with the dark liquid. It's been a long time since there had been something sweet in her life.

She makes breakfast for their daughter and prepares her lunch for kindergarten, before she goes to wake her up with small kisses to her nose and a smile. The only smile that seems natural. The only smile she can muster.

Martha takes Grace to kindergarten and she goes to the precinct.

His chair is still next to her desk. On the first day of his passing she had told someone to move it into storage, only to wake up at 2am, ride back to the 12th and run through the endless expanses of the storage room until, in some far corner, she finally found it again. It's been next to her desk ever since and sometimes, when everyone has left and it's only her left she sits in it. She sits on the tattered fabric and leans back and her arms come around her stomach and wrap around herself and she pretends it's him holding her together and his arms sheltering her, instead of her own.

She goes home late. Every day, late. Grace is usually asleep by the time she arrives and it breaks her heart to know that she is failing at being a mother so gloriously. She should be there to tuck her in, but Grace wants to hear stories. Stories about Daddy. And she just cannot manage talking about him in the past, about their dragon slaying adventures and especially not about their love story.

She goes to check on her every night. As soon as the door closes behind her and her heels are scattered on the floor behind her she enters the darkened room and pulls the pink covers a little more tightly around her daughter's small frame. She feathers kisses onto her forehead, softly, as not to wake her. Sometimes she still stirs, her eyes fluttering open and her small arms come around Kate's neck and hold tight as she whispers "I love you mommy" before she goes back to sleep.

She cries in the shower, every single night. She showers hot, to find some kind of a redeeming element, opposing the cold that has crept on her life, and she cries and cries, until she is hunched on the floor of the shower, bent over and the scalding water pelts on her head with an aching ferocity and burns her skin.

She brews herself fresh coffee then and sits on their couch, alone, pillows stuffed behind her back and Heat wave in her hands. She reads until the world outside turns gray and eventually returns to color and flips each page with trembling fingers until she passes out, only to be awoken a couple of hours later, to live it all again.

* * *

The day is like any other. It's been 24 days since he passed away and she arrives at home at 11pm. She expects to be greeted with darkness as usual when she opens the door, but the kitchen is well- lit and Martha is sitting on a bar stool, obviously expecting her and looking at her with an expression she can't name.

"Martha?" she whispers, the night is made for hushed words and quiet susurration now.

"Katherine" she seems hesitant to answer her and Kate can't help but cringe at the way this vibrant woman has changed. There is something gray about her hair now, her eyes seem darker, and that unfading energy radiating from her every fiber slowly diminishes and fades from her body with every day he is not with them.

They don't try to cheer each other up. Grief is a lonely thing.

Martha does her best to be with Grace after kindergarten, and Kate knows that Martha is a wonderful actress and can pull off displaying the kind of happiness she knows Grace needs in her life. She herself tries to do her best. She promised Castle that much, and on Sundays she is home and plays and laughs and does her best to not let the sadness overwhelm her in front of her kid. She manages, barely, but still.

"You should sit for this" Her attention startles back to Martha and she slips out of her shoes and moves toward the kitchen counter where she sits down next to his mother.

"This arrived in the post today" she slides a white envelope over to her daughter in law and Kate picks it up with a kind of tender precariousness.

It's addressed to her, and it doesn't take her even a second to recognize the cursive and crackly handwriting in which her address is written. She checks for the addressor anyway, it can't be. It couldn't possibly.

It is.

The letter is written by him, addressed to her, and all of the sudden there is a tightness to her chest that she can't shake.

Martha's hand is on hers as the tears start to fall and she knows the other woman feels the trembling tension in her body as she says "I'll leave you to it, I'll be next door"

She is dimly aware that she's nodding and her hand comes to cover her mouth when a broken sob escapes her lips. It's resonating in its ferocity and startles her for a second before she focuses on breathing. In and out.

Her fingers trace the edges of the white paper in her hands, the black letters, the stamp in the corner displaying a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge, and the way it is neatly closed.

It takes her trembling fingers five minutes to open the envelope, the edges slightly tattered now and even then she is sitting with the folded paper in her hands, seemingly unable to perform the simple task of unfolding it.

For a while she is torn between the furls and swirling sensations of anxiety and the flutters of excitement until at last she opens the white piece of paper. The black ink of his handwriting fills an entire page. Small black letter blur in front of her eyes after reading merely the first line and she has to blink fast to force them back into solid lines and read.

_Kate,_

_I don't know what to say. For once in my life all words have left me, and I am in our bed at 1am and I am speechless._

_I promised you, I would never leave you when we were on our honeymoon and you were scared. I promised you when they first diagnosed the cancer in my lungs and I promised you over and over again as it slowly started to rip away my life and steal my breath. I cannot make this promise anymore and I am sorry that I am going to break it. Soon._

_Life has been so good to us. 10 years of marriage, a wonderful daughter, a great home. But now something so sad has cordoned us off from all this happiness and the wait for better days has become too long. _

_The doctor told us today. He told us that treatment has been unsuccessful. _

_A month. That's what he gave is. One lousy month when we need so much more. Kate, I wanted so much more. Maybe another child, even two, a house somewhere outside the city. I wanted to take you to Paris, finally and I wanted to see you smile one our 50__th__ wedding anniversary. None of this is happening and it is killing me. (Is it too soon for black humor about dying?)_

_All I have left now are my words, and as empty they may be, I will try to make them count. I can't give up on us Kate, and even though my body is, I am trying to leave a part of me behind. _

_You were whispering in your sleep at night, begging me to stay, just stay and I heard you cry in the bathroom last night and my heart hurt because there was nothing I could do. _

_That was the moment I decided I had to at least try and do something and I picked up a pen and even though my fingers don't seem to work as fast as they used to (chemo has made me age in a way I don't like very much) I get to write these lines to you. _

_If everything goes right, there will be one letter each month, filled with things that I hope will make you happy, or life at least bearable. It has been so long that I have seen this smile on your face, this gorgeous smile that makes my heart flutter and the world fall apart and I need to know that this illness hasn't robbed the world from this sight._

_I understand if you don't want those letters, they might be written for complete selfish reasons, by a desperate man, clinging to every strand in order to stay with you and I can't believe that soon my words will be all that is left. We survived so much together, fire and ice and everything in between and in the end I am killed by the sickness inside of me. I guess T.S. Eliot has been right when he said the world wouldn't end with a bang, but with a whimper and the cruelty of this fact leaves me breathless. (Figuratively speaking. The nasal cannula sees that I breathe so the term of being breathless might be a little exaggerated)_

_But Kate, if this is the only letter you read I need you to know one thing. The only thing that matters and the only thing I am sure of now._

_I love you. I have no better way of saying this. I love you and I want to repeat those words over and over until there is a sentence that speaks of more truth. I love you and there are no clichés that would come even close to grasping my emotions for you and as a writer this pains in a glorious way because it seems that the whole spectrum of words didn't anticipate the depth of my feelings for you and so I am left with this one, simple truth, that I am sure of: I love you, Katherine Houghton Beckett. Now and Always._

_Forever yours_

_Castle_

She only gains awareness of the tears when singular drops spill onto the paper and obliterate the writing. Her hand comes up to wipe the wetness away, moving with a precise familiarity that speaks of the way her fingers have been trained for this task from having performed it oh so many times in the past months.

She isn't sure how she feels honestly. There has been nothing but sadness and nothingness for the past month so she seems to have lost the ability to distinguish between her emotions. There is something rough clawing at her throat and curls of something lighter in her stomach and the urge to cry and scream and also the lightness of laughter in her throat and if she weren't so completely focused on his words she would probably be much more irritated by the whole spectrum of emotions running through her entire being right now.

The fingertip of her index finger moves to the top of the paper, where he has written her name in black ink and she takes a moment to trace the swirl of the letters on paper until imprints of his words are tattooed on her skin.

This is completely impossible. This letter is impossible and somehow it seems fitting because their love story has always been something beyond every possibility, transcending everything she had ever thought imaginable for herself and it's only right for it to last and overcome the barriers of life and death.

She reads the letter once again. Her eyes are so used to his words, to the way his a's are a little loopy and the way he puts a little squiggle on the end of the lower- case g's that reach into the words of the line beneath and she feels the tenderness with which he has written her name as if he was there, whispering it into her neck like he used to. The little hairs at her neck prickle with his almost tangible breath and she has to turn around and assure herself that he truly isn't there.

The fridge behind her is grey and cold, steel, the air empty and still she feels his hands at her waist, transferring some kind of strength she can't find within herself anymore. And she turns around to look at the letter and smiles.

Of course she knows that they won't bring him back. And she is well aware that maybe after this year when even his words will be gone it will be worse than ever. But for now, it's enough. It is a terribly Castle-thing to do, and something that will make the days pass a little more easily and that will keep her connected to him in this small way. And she knows she is going to treasure every single word he is going to endow her with, she is going to relish the cadence of his words when they echo though her mind, will repeat them in the silence of the night, her breath drawing pictures into the darkness until every word will be imprinted onto the blackness and the night will be illuminated with the sheer impossibility of his love for her.

And she takes the letter to the bedroom and places it in the box that once held her mother's ring as well.

* * *

**AN: **So some real life things happened that inspired this and it was either writing or tumbling down the road of depression again and so I wrote.

Tumblr: dancingontiptoes

Twitter: AlyssaLucyAnne


	2. August

August

* * *

It's almost impossibly hot. It's the sort of heat that suffocates you with its ferocity and rests upon your chest like dead weight. It's the kind of heat that increases the effort of every task to a point where it is almost unbearable and it's the kind of heat that creeps into every last corner until it swallows you whole.

Kate shivers as she steps onto the street, pulls her jacket closer and starts her way home.

She's cold all the time and she doesn't know what to do about it.

She returns to the loft in the glow of street lights. The doorman has fallen asleep, his head lolled back against the wall and face half hidden by the unfolded newspaper still in is hands. He's snoring lightly as she moves over to their mailbox in order to take the post up with her.

It's her coming home routine now. It's August 12th, almost half of the month has passed and still there has been nothing, and so her expectations are low when she steps inside the elevator and presses the key with a four on it.

She sees her reflection in the mirror. Black leather jacket, black pullover, jeans and heels. Her hair is tousled and her eyes are dark and haunted. There are black shadows underneath them that trench into her skin and speak of her permanent lack of sleep. Her lips are almost as white as her skin. She looks like a ghost, a twisted image of her former self, tormented by the loss of everything that was important and her obstinate eyes scare her to the point where she can't meet their reflection anymore and so she focuses on sorting through the post in her hands instead.

It's mostly letters that are still addressed to him. She has called every agency to tell them he has passed away and yet they still send letters with advertisements or invitations and it's probably one of the worst feelings in the world, getting a letter addressed to someone, who's no longer there.

There is a letter for Martha by someone called Toby and some bills she will have to pay. It's the last letter, at the bottom of the stack, and honestly how could it be any different, and she sees it only as the elevator reaches her floor with a distant "ding".

She all but runs into the loft, her heels flying off, and lets the coat fall to the ground as she stumbles up the stairs toward her daughter's room.

Grace doesn't wake up this night, only snuggles a little closer into her comforter and smiles a tiny little smile in her dreams as Kate places the softest of kisses on her forehead.

Kate leaves the room on tiptoes, desperately trying to keep quiet and battle the ache inside her chest, the restless flutters that beg her to just open the letter already and she stumbles down the stairs again to get to their bedroom and into bed.

She leaves the letter on his pillow as she changes, puts on one of his gray shirts that still holds his scent and keeps her eyes trained on the white paper every second of it, afraid that if she didn't it would somehow fly away. Have never existed. Gone.

She cuddles in on his side of the bed, pulls up his blanket and only then, surrounded by the safety of their sheets and the comfort of his scent does she open the letter.

_Kate,_

_It's August and I can't believe I am not with you. August is my favorite month. Did I ever tell you that? _

_August means sunshine and occasional thunderstorms. August means going to the Hamptons with Alexis and dancing on the beach with you. And August means that singular rays of sunshine dance in your hair and cast you in the kind of pure gold, I always found most fitting to describe the color of your heart._

_I wish I could see it all just one last time. We spent most of last August in the hospital, the therapy had really worn me out, but even through the windows I could see summer's beauty and sometimes we went out in the park and you wheeled me off in a wheelchair and we just sat and held each other for a while. Even though this time was tainted with sadness we had those moments of quiet peace that wish so desperately for you to have now. _

_Kate, now here comes my wish for you. Please take Grace to the Hamptons. She's been there last when she was four, before sickness has gotten hold of me and I wish for her to see it all now that she is a little older. Show her our beach and collect sea shells together. Take her to that restaurant we both liked and order every single finger food they have on the menu so you can try it all until you feel sick. And most off all tell her our stories at night when the darkness comes. Tell her the happy things. Tell her about that time we went to Coney Island, tell her about the day we spent on the fair and the way you shot a stuffed panda for me. Tell her about the days we spent at home, watching that ridiculous Nebula 9 show and tell her about all the other things that made us so very happy._

_You should wear your red dress even though you probably feel like wearing black. Wear it all the time and when the sun starts to set take Grace out to the beach and dance with her where the waves touch the shore until your feet are wet and the sand has left its marks at the backs of them. _

_Laugh, Kate. Please laugh. Even if it hurts and even if you have to cry while you laugh, laugh. I have always thought your laugh to be the most wonderful sound here on this earth and I want the summer breeze to catch it and carry it on to wherever I am. _

_Spin like you are crazy. Do you remember that night on the beach? We were a little drunk and I pulled you up and took your hands like little children do and we spun in circles until we felt dizzy and collapsed in the sand. You looked up into the sky and I told you about the movie Gattaca you refused to watch with me. I told you about Vincent's last line, saying that every atom of ours has once been a star and therefore death isn't leaving but actually going home. We lay there on the beach for a long time and stared into the sky until eventually we fell asleep. So Kate, spin until you feel dizzy and the world is upside down and if you want to find me look up into the endless skies and find me in the stars, for somewhere there I will be._

_I love you, Kate. Enjoy the summer. I am right there. In the stars above you and the breeze in your hair, I am all around you. I love you._

_Yours_

_Castle_

* * *

It's two am when she wanders off to the beach alone. The lights of lanterns are reflected on the sea, swirling and dancing on the dark surface, purporting the illusion of little golden creatures swimming in the depth of the ocean.

It's that time of the night where it is almost impossible to distinguish between the sea and sky as the meet at the horizon. All lines have faded and the darkness is all-consuming, ripping away light and soul. But she long since has stopped fearing darkness' hold, for there are things worse than blackness; things that are unspoken and translucent, hiding between the shadows of the heart.

Her bare feet walk along the shore line where the flood meets the ground, sinking into the wet ground and being flooded by waves every so often.

She's wearing the red dress. The color is almost unrecognizable in the dark but her pale skin glows dimly and she feels the way the soft fabric flutters around her thighs and she knows that if Castle were here he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of her.

If.

He's not.

And so the night remains the only witness to her beauty.

The sand is smooth underneath her feet, like velvet in its softness and she doesn't notice how long she has been walking when she hears music coming from somewhere beyond her vision. It's probably a beach bar, perhaps a club. They are playing "Dancing with myself" and she inadvertently finds herself stopping to listen.

He loved this song. There have been plenty of times when she has caught him in the living room playing guitar hero, dancing and playing along to this tune and she has to smile at the memory.

She also remembers the night they spent out here in the Hamptons at the exact same beach. Even though her vision had been hazy from the alcohol and the world had seemed a little brighter she finds It all again now and before she notices what she is doing she starts to dance slow circles, her feet moving with the rhythm of Billy Idol's guitar and she can't help but feeling the irony of dancing alone at a beach at what has to be 3am now, with this exact song as her background tune.

She starts spinning faster now. The world starts to blur and she goes faster and faster. Her feet leave imprints in the smooth sand and she keeps spinning. Her dress is flying and her hair is too and the world has lost all its edges. Her hands come up by her sides and reach out for the unknown and she spins and spins until her legs give out underneath her and she falls back into the sand, her arms still stretched out and her hair a beautiful mess, scattered all around her. The world is still swimming, and all contours are gone and in this moment she is both, lost and found.

She tastes the salt of tears on her smiling lips and it's only then that she notices she is crying. She lets her eyes wander along to the sky above her, her vision sobering and gazes at the abundance of stars that is always hidden by the fog and lights in the city.

"Home" she whispers, her voice breaking with the single word and a sob floods the air "I want to come home to you" and the surge of waves takes her trembling words and lets them float away.

The tears still cascade down her cheeks when the laughter escapes her lips and soon her entire frame is shaking with quivers and quakes. Unbridled. Opaque. And every peal of laughter is cathartic, pure and light, as if just for this one night the sea has been able to wash all the dust, all the dark and broken pieces away from her soul. And she reaches her hand out into the sky, connecting with him in the only way possible and she laughs and cries and whenever the nightly breeze swirls around her palm she can feel him holding it.

She looks up into the sky for a while, into the endless expanses of the universe and tries to find constellations underneath the stars depicted on the blackness. She remembers the night clearly. He had been talking about Gattaca and Star Trek and at some point he had started talking about mythology and stories of heroes that had become stars in the sky. And she lets her index finger wander along the dark skies and traces the invisible lines between the stars and she knows that somewhere out there he has to be too. Underneath all these stars. A hero. Her love.

"I miss you Castle" and her words are so silent that not even the sea could have caught them and it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because she knows that her words will soar on the swirling air and reach him above all this beautiful darkness.

The sea rushes as a tide of sighs and intermingles with the wind into a fading "I love you" and she smiles as she cries.

She stays on the beach until dawn is breaking and the spilling light of the sun starts to amplify the world's edges again and turns the sky into a sea of color.

She walks back home then, over sand and stone back to her daughter sleeping in her small bed with the pink covers and a stuffed lion pressed to her chest and she feels the color on her skin and the sun in her hair and she is almost sure it is him casting her in the brightest fragments of the sky. And for the first time in weeks she feels warm.

* * *

AN: Even I am astounded that I updated this quickly, thanks for all your sweet messages on tumblr, fanfiction, etc, you are all wonderful. Also this is vastly unedited so I apologize in advance.


End file.
